Tuesday, March 06, 2012
All the Pregnant Ladies
There I was, floating solo in my motion-sickness-inducing boat of enormity, waving (a little desperately) to my friends on shore, turning to Heather Armstrong’s memoir and boxes of Cheese-Its for solace and commiseration.
This time during my tenure as pregnant lady, six friends have kept me company in the rocky, nauseating boat—though none of them were bothered much by the waves or the relentless rocking back and forth. Bitches.
But as much as I love—nay, need—to complain about being in the family way, I haven’t been so much in the mood lately, after one of my friends miscarried and another is finding out today exactly which terrible genetic anomaly her statistically-likely-to-have fetus has—or maybe doesn’t have.
Every time my wee one kicks or head-butts or butt-butts my belly from the inside, I’m just so insanely grateful that he (or she) is alive and statistically likely to be well, with the right number of chromosomes and everything as it should be.
Bless you, little critter. I am so glad to be your vessel and I love you so much—even though you make me barf.
Photo courtesy tjk, morgueFile